#also some show of his abilities

[sparkdoesart]

Fullmoon!

Some night and gourm for day 3! Really liked this one!

[tswwwit]

i have a counter argument to the 'only one person can boop bill' thing, mabel. she's the type of person to slap stickers on people, she would definitely be the type to also boop others occasionally and bill would be no exception. she probably doesn't do it to annoy bill like dipper would, but maybe as a form of a friendly gesture, kind of like those people who will lightly punch friends in the arm when they hang out.

You know what? Good point. Mabel would get away with more than most, as a fun-loving lady! Bill understands those impulses, and being a touchy person! He indulges in similar ones himself.

Though when Bill's not in the mood to be playful and gets booped anyway? The 'sister-in-law' status grants her considerable grace.

[calartscorner]

"The axolotl wanted me dead, now you get to find out why!"

[bitchthefuck1]

you know what, I actually will talk about this because it's bothering me. The issue with focussing so heavily on syd and carmy's potential for a romantic relationship isn't that there's something inherently unintellectual about romance or whatever, it's that a lot of people seem incapable of doing that without immediately flattening the story and ignoring or intentionally misreading any and all nuance for the sake of that romance. Every scene suddenly becomes about how it impacts their relationship, every analysis is done through a romantic lens, every frame or line of dialogue becomes about finding some easter egg or hint that "proves" these people should start dating. Their dynamic is absolutely a fundamental part of this show, but if you can only see it as a will-they-won't-they, you miss so much of what the story is actually trying to say with these two.

There are good versions of this story where their relationship is romantic and there are good versions of this story where it isn't, but as soon as you decide them being together is "the point," you lose the ability to actually judge the story for what it is, not what you want it to be.

[reeama-the-mage]

The difference between the tragedy of Edwin's and Charles' lives and deaths and what makes Charles' much more compelling to me is that Edwin never had anyone he could trust: he grew up with distant parents who i imagine he saw rarely and could not confide in, then he went to school and was immediately recognized as other in a way he had not fully realized of himself yet and was killed for it, and then comes hell and well who can u trust in hell? Certainly not the things that chase you until your legs ache, and even if your compatriots in the whole ordeal are as innocent as you, trapped in the same technicality, what is the good of trusting them, when they are just as helpless as you?

But Charles? Everyone Charles was supposed to trust betrayed him. His parents were close to him, atleast somewhat, atleast his father was around enough to get sick of hearing owner of a lonely heart, and his mother was around enough to watch his father beat him and be silently horrified and ultimately not do anything about it, maybe she stepped in once and we just never saw it, but I wouldn't bet on it, Charles' mom is 'quiet' that's her defining feature to Charles not protective or gentle just 'quiet', then Charles gets to school and he is popular he has friends! He has people who care for him (or should maybe, as long as he's good at sports like he's needed to be) and then he stands up for one person, because he has always wanted to be good and maybe he trusts himself to do it just this once and his friends kill him and his own actions signed the death warrant and he cannot even trust himself to do the right thing properly (it never got better and then you died)

And maybe, maybe Edwin does it too, with less intention to hurt, and with less knowledge but Charles and Edwin trust eachother maybe more than anything (maybe Charles would sooner slip away from earth's gravity than stop putting his trust in Edwin who he thinks is good and smart and brills and aces) and maybe Edwin still looks at Charles trying to protect him after Charles has had maybe the worst week of his existence and says "that was a bit...... extreme" and Edwin still promises Charles can tell him anything while hiding himself in a way that makes Charles feel untrustworthy

So yeah I'll never stop thinking about the tragedy of Charles Rowland actually 👍 think about him with me

[eru-iru]

i need more aus where makoto lives and he has a palace coz smth fvcked up happened when he gets brought back. ryoji also gets back too coz he's connected to makoto teehee

[flowey-apologist]

More Kaze and the others again

Ft😇😇 SONOKO AGAIN

[winepresswrath]

the thing about revisit of the fight in 1x5 is that Louis started it and Louis kept it going and Louis threatened to kill Lestat but it's kicked off because Lestat put his hands on Claudia. that's what tips Louis over the edge into physical violence.

and the other thing about that fight is that Louis was not going to leave Lestat. He's not focused on trying to get away or comfort Claudia, though he is enraged on her behalf. He is trying to hurt Lestat. He can't really hurt him but he doesn't know that yet. He wants to punish him for both what he did to Claudia and for Claudia leaving in the first place. honestly knowing Louis probably for some other stuff while he's at it. he's been punishing him for seven years. But I really don't think he was going to actually try and leave him. that's so fucked up. they're so fucked up.

[quirkle2]

who wants zombie au writing. don't answer that ur getting it anyway (1.6k words)

His shoes knock against the old flooring of the house, wood creaking under rubber soles that slide over the woodgrain. He drags them a bit, lifts his limbs up no more than he strictly has to, and they lead him to the nearest sittable surface.

The couch is old and dusty and has likely gone untouched for months, much like everything else nowadays, so he watches the thin cloud of dust billow off the cushions largely with disinterest. He collapses into the fabric heavily, feels the whole thing scoot back an inch and hit the wall behind him. The sound echoes, carried by lifeless rooms, while he unceremoniously drops his backpack to the floor by his feet.

The breath he lets out is slow and methodical and born of pent up muscles, aimed at the ceiling where he rests his neck against the back of the couch and relaxes every limb one by one. It’s a process he forces himself through, if only to rid the constant ache beneath his skin.

Slow, sweeping footsteps meander around the room in front of him, and Ritsu angles his gaze down from his craned back position to look at his brother. He wanders, like he so often does—seemingly aimless, but there’s something procedural about it that he’s convinced he just hasn’t figured out yet.

Shigeo’s empty eyes crawl along the hearth of the fireplace, explosions of ash sprayed out across the red brick. His head tilts up to trace his attention around the angular lines of the television, hung on the wall and screen grey with dust. He flits back and forth between the roundness of the bricked mantle and the sharp edges of the screen, like he’s taking notes.

Shigeo paws the television. Four lines of muck are cleared. The zombie blinks, paws at it again with dusty, curious fingers. Ritsu watches him make a mess of the television screen in silence, blinking tiredly.

He almost closes his eyes, but he fights against the urge and moves his fingers down his lap to reach for his bag. His middle hooks around the loop at the top and he lugs it up and into his lap, where he unzips it and peers into the shadowy contents.

Ritsu fishes out the water bottles. He finds the one with the messy R scribbled along the cap in sharpie and takes a big swig of it. It’s warm going down, constantly insulated in a bag of old, sweaty clothes. He feels like he can taste the odor in it, but it clears the grain in his throat from stomping all over dirt roads today, so he’s still grateful.

He holds out the one labeled S to Shigeo. “Thirsty?”

Shigeo looks at him from where he’s crouched down to the floor now, inspecting the soot along the hearth. Unfortunately, he sees handprints in the black already, and when his brother reaches a hand out to take it, his palm is covered in soot.

He lets him have his fun and settles his own bottle back in the mess of tangled clothes and rolls of bandages. Ritsu rakes his fingers through their stock with no real purpose—he knows exactly what’s in here, and none of it is useful.

They’d been searching all day; Ritsu doesn’t really know how far they’d walked, but it had to be a lot of miles. In and out of stores, up and down empty houses, weaving between warehouses—they didn’t really stop for a break. Not when Ritsu can hear Shigeo’s stomach from here and he himself has shaking hands. They can’t afford a break.

Nothing, though. Not a single goddamn thing worth taking. A settlement must have come through here long ago and swept the highway. They’re in the countryside, where houses are spaced out acres from each other and there’s entire cow pastures between properties. And yet every house they’d seen and entered provided nothing.

Ritsu stares into the negative space in his bag where there should be supplies. His stomach cramps and if he smells another whiff of that godawful sweaty, bloody sweatshirt he still carries, he’s going to throw up bile.

He leans away from the open pouch, eyes wandering to his brother who draws… something into the soot of the hearth. His water bottle sits on the floor, abandoned and still unscrewed. Ritsu leans forward with great effort and a grunt, leaning over his bag to grab at the top of it.

It takes him two tries to get Shigeo’s attention, and one more for an answer on where the cap is. It’s then placed in his palm, covered in soot and also saliva. Ritsu swallows down the nausea that rolls up his throat and wipes it off with his frankly already disgusting sleeve, and screws it back on.

He leans back again, succumbing to the urge to let his eyes rest, and he listens to the very subtle swipe of his brother’s hands across brick. There’s birds outside, chirping, and even though it’s still very much a common occurrence, Ritsu cannot help but feel nostalgic about it.

If he ignores the awful hum of silence, and the distinct lack of an electric thrum throughout the walls, and the fact that this is a stranger’s couch and not his, he can almost imagine normalcy. He can almost say this feels like those quiet moments after school, when he settles on the couch and scrolls through his phone in a house that only holds him and his brother because their parents simply aren’t home yet.

He can almost hear the creak of wood from Shigeo walking around his room upstairs. He can almost tap his fingers on the couch cushions to the pattern of his brother making his way down the steps. He can almost hear the fridge opening, and the sound of milk being poured into glass.

Almost. But Ritsu listens to sharp silence instead, and he tries not to think too hard.

He drifts for a while, feels himself truly sink into the couch and let the cushions claim him, and he thinks about nothings because if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose it. He carefully sifts through the nothingness of his mind, through the passing thoughts that have no bearing, and he focuses on that, on the lack of substance. His head is too full of things that have too much substance.

He misses boredom. He tells himself he misses boredom—the complete insubstantiality of it—because if he lets himself think of what he really misses, it’ll drive him insane.

The cushions move, and Ritsu peels his eyes open and lets himself get pulled from liminal mindspace. The cotton in his head recedes, and he blinks, and then he’s swiveling his head to look at his brother who sits in the cushion right next to him.

His hands and the cuffs of his hoodie are smothered in black. Shigeo sits hunched, gaze still wandering even when there’s not much decoration in this house to look at. He studies the off-white walls, the chips in the paint, the holes drilled in where there maybe used to be photos hung.

Ritsu gazes at him quietly, chest instinctively rising and falling to match his brother’s rhythm. He watches the expansion there, under his hoodie, in the subtlety of the folds and the way they warp over the movement. It’s slightly quicker than what he’s used to, but Ritsu knows his brother’s heart rate is much slower. He’s felt it before. He’s listened to it before, with his ear against a chest.

Ritsu’s attention moves to his eyes, and the heavy bags underneath them, and the paleness of his pupils and the ghostlight of him underneath that. He stares into them, looks for stray, familiar thoughts that might enter his head. Looks for old memories that might shine through in the form of recognition when he sees furniture layouts, and candy wrappers, and ads for soda.

Ritsu looks for it all the time, that glint of familiarity. And he finds it, sometimes. And really, he thinks that’s keeping him going more than food ever will.

Shigeo turns his head, and looks at him. Sometimes, when his brother looks at him, there’s not much there. No substance, no anything. And Ritsu finds it a bit evil that he craves silence in his own head, and yet noise in Shigeo’s, and often times it is the other way around.

His brother looks at him now, though, with that comforting recognition. That growth of the pupils, that softening of the hard edges of his face where unknown stressors have gotten to him. Ritsu wonders what zombies get stressed out. He figures it’s the same deal with humans, considering they’re largely alike.

Ritsu wonders if Shigeo knows he’s sick. He wishes he could ask him. He wishes for a lot of things. Silence in his own head is one of them.

Ritsu swivels his head away and stares at the ceiling, if only to force the thoughts to pause. He studies the popcorn ridges above them, traces the peaks with his gaze. It calms him, gives him something to focus on. He looks for patterns in the shadows they make.

Shigeo shifts next to him. And then he shimmies down, settles into the cushions, and plops his head right down on Ritsu’s shoulder.

Static roars in his mind and his heart stammers. Ritsu swallows the lump in his throat but that just makes it bigger, so he clamps his mouth shut and breathes carefully through his nose.

The tears cut through the grime on his face. He plops his own head down against his brother’s, and lives in the noise.

[chiropteracupola]

check out my regular leg floral arrangement

[spliqi]

honestly rereading the manga has warmed me up to the idea of junichirou being chosen for the mafia swap a lot. i used to think it was kind of a boring choice but the foundations are well laid out and depending on how naomi is utilized it could be sooooo good

[forcedhesitation]

I'm actually rather surprised that not a single one of the boys made top three. but then again, I suppose the large number of straight men that play this game are not as visible in fan spaces as us lgbt. That is...a fortunate thing, though, I'd argue.

[abelllia]

Transcript:

[From MAG 92]

Elias (Statement): -if I leave a letter here, in your institute, you might find it, you might be able to save me. I have no other hope. I have no other hope. Please, Jonah, if you have any compassion within your heart, you will not leave me in this place. Your loyal servant, Barnabas.

Elias: Jonah Magnus did leave him in that place, Jon. He got the letter, oh yes, and was on good terms with Mordechai Lukas. He could have interceded, perhaps even saved him, but he did not. And it was not out of malice, or because he lacked affection for Barnabas Bennett: he retrieved those bones sadly enough when the time came. Bones that you can still find in my office, if you know where to look.

No, it was because he was curious. Because he had to know, to watch and see it all.That’s what this place is, Jon, never forget it. You may believe yourself to have friends, to have confidantes, but in the end, all they are is something for you to watch, to know, and ultimately to discard.

[From MAG 159]

Jon: Martin. He’s gone, Martin. He – he’s gone. 

Martin: His only wish was to die alone.

Jon: Tough. Now – listen to me, Martin. Listen.

Martin: Hello, Jon.

Jon: Listen, I know you think you want to be here, I know you think it’s safer, and well – well, maybe it is. But we need you. I need you.

Martin: No, you don’t. Not really. Everyone’s alone, but we all survive.

Jon: I don’t just want to survive!

Martin: I’m sorry.

Jon: Martin. Martin, look at me. Look at me and tell me what you see.

Martin: I see…

I see you, Jon.

I see you.

Jon: Martin.

Martin: I… I was on my own. I was all on my own.

Jon: Not anymore. Come on. Let’s go home.

Martin: How?

Jon: Don’t worry. I know the way.

[CLICK]

End Transcript

Going insane about this for a multitude of reasons

[baellielurk]

attacks i made this 2024 artfight :3 in order of images, the characters belong to: @maripapercat, @adxmanial, ~AHHHHHhhhhhh664, ~M_the_little_mouse, @returnflame, @jules-makes-stuff, @gothoctopus, ~Sarahfox14, @mx-lamour, faun.draws, ~alkanones, @nouveaumoon, DevotedlyStar, ~Faildemon, cute-l0ve

[2k3raph]

one misconception i've seen abt 2k3 raph's character quite a few times is that he dislikes the nickname raphie. he's called raphie by mikey and donnie throughout the series and casey at least once, and he never responds negatively to the nickname itself nor is it even Implied by him or any other characters he feels any sort of negative way abt it. he also calls Himself raphie ("it's not nice to invade mr raphie's neighborhood") in space invaders part 1. like the mischaracterization's coming from Inside the house.

edit: i'm scared but making this rebloggable now.

[sysig]

Blusters in, flusters out (Patreon)